


honeymoon is everlasting

by brotherfuckersanonymous



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Mild Blood, Rough Sex, Sibling Incest, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-10-11 14:23:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17448671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brotherfuckersanonymous/pseuds/brotherfuckersanonymous
Summary: "You really want me dead, huh?" Jerome murmured, just to see where he could push Jeremiah. Just to test him out. Give him a trial run. "You don't like me. You wanna snack on my corpse. I bet you're one of those cute little sick fucks who gets off on eating other people. You wanna know how I taste? I've heard I'm pretty hard to cook, but I'm juicy."Jerome has a divine altercation with the brother he accidentally-on-purpose made into a monster.





	honeymoon is everlasting

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this fic really quick months ago (shortly after the end of season four) and only rediscovered it recently in my drafts. :L if it contradicts anything in canon now, other than the obvious au here where jerome isn't dead, then my excuse is that i haven't actually watched season five yet because i'm trying to pull together my cringe-intake for it.

They sat across from one another like a couple of cats with their tails flicking, waiting to see what the other would do first. The burning fluorescents overhead brought them both into an overly-dramatic, theatrical glare — Jeremiah had chosen the purple lighting in the safe house when it was first being built because the color was supposed to represent purity and elitism, which, frankly, made Jerome fucking sick, even though it was pretty funny.  

Jeremiah had been convinced his entire life that he was the good twin to match the bad twin. Pure at heart, just a little lonely, just a little sad, just a little scared. He had created this victim persona, his crocodile tears bubbling over, running to Mommy and begging her to hold him while Jerome was punished for just wanting to play. Jeremiah was thin-skinned. He was a crybaby. He glazed over his violent urges and his bloodlust in favor of being the fragile, tortured soul who only wanted to have fun with his inventions and his blueprints and his puzzles and his mazes.  

There couldn't have been a punishment more fitting than the infection. Jeremiah's eyes were thin and sharp and brightly-lit, standing out against his pale complexion. His skin looked a little gray, like he'd been dead for the past month. Jerome was waiting for it to flake away so he could see the bones underneath. He couldn't wait until he could kill Jeremiah, but they'd have to die together—they'd go down like soulmates. Jerome was pretty sure he remembered hearing somewhere that star-crossed lovers were cursed to be reincarnated as identical twins if they committed suicide together. Jerome was a sucker for romance and he wanted to emulate it. It was tragic, it was dramatic, and it would make a great movie.  

 Jeremiah had been converted last night. Now he was plotting a thousand and one different murder methods; Jerome could tell. He hadn't really said anything all day, just keeping his distance and watching, waiting, trying to be a predator. He wanted to pounce so badly.  

 "You really want me dead, huh?" Jerome murmured, just to see where he could push Jeremiah. Just to test him out. Give him a trial run. "You don't like me. You wanna snack on my corpse. I bet you're one of those cute little sick fucks who gets off on eating other people. You wanna know how I taste? I've heard I'm pretty hard to cook, but I'm juicy."  

"Look, Jerome," Jeremiah said with a tight sigh, closing his eyes and pushing his glasses up, jamming against his face. It was a forced calm that wasn't very calm. Jerome giggled softly and pressed his knuckles against his mouth. "I'm not stupid—" 

"Are too." 

"Are no—" Jeremiah's mouth flattened out and his nostrils flared. Jerome started giggling again, high-pitched and genuine. Jeremiah flexed his fingers and folded them together, watching Jerome with narrowed eyes until silence fell again. ". . . I'm not going to play with you. That's over. You broke your toys." 

"Not yet," Jerome said, grinning and tilting his head. "I wanna play with you like I used to, baby brother. You know how much fun we could have in Gotham? You're as smart as I am. You're as fast as I am. You know how to hurt people, you know how to create, I know how to make them laugh, I know how to destroy. We got a push-and-pull thing. We're really made for each other now. Just look at you." 

"I don't think I'm as unrefined or impulsive or indulgent or reckless or idiotic as you are," Jeremiah said coldly. "You're not fit for Gotham. It deserves a better god than you." 

"Sounds like a threat," Jerome said, his smile stretched and frozen, because he did kind of feel like ripping Jeremiah's tongue out of the front of his face. "Are you gonna kill the god they've got now? You think you're good enough to take his place?" 

Jeremiah half-laughed. It was a little strange—it didn't sound like the awkward kind of snicker he'd had before, when he shook from nervousness and crept around in fear and self-loathing. It almost took Jerome off-guard, something he really didn't like at all. It sounded like him, but with a lack of humor. "I don't think you're qualified to call yourself a god, Jerome."  

Jerome licked his lips and quirked an eyebrow. “Don’t think you are, either, baby bro. See, what you want.” He got to his feet and approached Jeremiah slowly. Jeremiah watched him without moving a muscle, statuesque. “What you want is for everyone else to worship you, but you’re not gonna give ‘em anything in return. You don’t want friends, you don’t want slaves, you don’t wanna entertain anyone or give ‘em something to look forward to. All you want is to be a little piece of shit know-it-all control freak! No one wants that! Jesus Christ, you wanna be mechanical about everything, you wanna—you wanna run Gotham like a machine. I know that’s what you’d want.” 

“You don’t know what I want,” Jeremiah growled. There it was, that was what Jerome was looking for. Disgust and anger that he could lick up. “You presume an awful lot, brother, for someone who was forced to live worlds away from me for years and years and you think you understand me and my head and my visions and my hopes and dreams and whatever the hell you want to classify all those as. You don’t. Know. Me.” 

”Oh, no, Miah, I know you.” Jerome tilted Jeremiah’s head up with his fingers and Jeremiah’s lip curled. “I know you. I can feel you. We’ve got the same head, the same—” He jabbed Jeremiah in the side of the head with one finger. “—the same broken, broken brain; you’re just not as much fun as I am. You don’t know how to tell a joke before you gut someone. You don’t even tell bad jokes, not even ‘knife to see you today’ or—” 

Jeremiah leaped up and grabbed Jerome's throat, knocking him to the floor. Jeremiah's glasses clattered on the floor not far away. Jerome saw stars pop like fireworks behind his eyes, forcing him close to blacking out, the impact of the concrete tile ringing a painful bell in his ears. Jeremiah's fingers curled into Jerome's neck, his breathing sharp and heavy. 

"You don't know anything," Jeremiah's image was just a little blurry right now, but his teeth grit together and his eyes flattened to slits. He was more like a cobra than a cat. In the back of his mind, Jerome expected his tongue to look forked now. That would've been hot. "I'm not who you wanted me to be. I don't care what you did to me; I'm not your pet, I don't belong to you. I'm not yours. Not anymore." 

Jerome made an exaggerated gagging sound even though it was actually pretty difficult to breathe right now. "You really, agh, y-you really—you really sure about that? How d'you know yet? I mean, you—y-you really were born yesterday, weren't you? Hahaha, ha—Jesus, y-y-you got a strong grip." He coughed and wheezed when Jeremiah's grip became a vice, clutching as tight as he could.  

"I can't wait to kill you," Jeremiah whispered, leaning in close. His nose practically brushed Jerome's and Jerome could feel his hot, excited breathing against his own mouth. Fuck, that was kind of erotic. Jerome's back arched just slightly and the heel of his shoe scraped over the floor. He was lightheaded and it made him feel like he was floating above ground. Why had both Bruce and Jim Gordon both been too much of a pussy to do this to him first? He was kind of pissed that he'd only gotten choked out by circus freaks and his whore mother's ugly, disgusting boyfriends until now. "I can't wait to see you without a smile on your face." 

"Yeah, no, not likely, pretty boy," Jerome managed, jamming his knee up into Jeremiah's stomach. Jeremiah's knees gave out and saliva was forced out of his mouth, splattering onto Jerome's face. Jerome shuddered with pleasure and grabbed Jeremiah's shoulders, slamming him down against the concrete this time—Jerome was still a little dizzy, a little out of it, but years of essential torture and chaos born from his own hands and doing the hokey-pokey with the GCPD and choice instances of kinky sex made it next to nothing. He shoved his thigh between Jeremiah's legs, pinned his wrist down against the floor, and punched him in the face just to tranquilize him a little. Jeremiah snarled and panted, his eyes wide and bright like a feral animal's. A thin line of blood ran from his damaged nose, meeting his upper lip.  

Jerome inclined his head and licked up the dripping blood, exhaling softly. He could hear Jeremiah's breathing stop for a moment. Jeremiah's wrist stopped twisting in an effort to escape and his lips parted. Jerome ran his tongue over Jeremiah's upper lip, sucking it into his mouth, his insides melting together with heat that collected in the pit of his stomach.  

"Use your teeth, I know you're better than that," Jeremiah hissed when Jerome pulled back. "Come on, make it hurt the way you like it. I know you want to. Fucking hurt me. So you'll give me an excuse." 

"Only if you say please," Jerome said, feeling shiny and new. He slid his hand up Jeremiah's side, thirsty and starving to touch him. "Say please for Daddy." 

Jeremiah punched Jerome this time, squarely in the jaw with his free hand. It knocked Jerome's head to the side and made him gasp and choke just a little bit on air. Jerome moved his mouth and rubbed at his cheek, making sure his face still worked even while it was aching and stinging. "Okay, okay, maybe I deserve that, but—" 

Jeremiah grabbed Jerome's tie and yanked him down, not letting him finish yet another goddamn sentence, kissing him. It wasn't even really a kiss, though: Jeremiah bit down hard on Jerome's lip and blood spilled between both their mouths. Jerome moaned as Jeremiah shoved his tongue past his brother's lips, a death grip on Jerome's tie, reminding him how little air he really had. Jerome knew he had a knife somewhere in his sleeve, but he wanted it all to be teeth, he wanted them to play it like animals at each other's necks. He could feel Jeremiah's erection through layers of fabric pressed against his thigh and it felt like sick, delicious triumph.  

"We taste the same," Jerome breathed, his mouth filled with hot, sweet, sour, salty copper. "We're one and the same, Jer, you know we are." 

"You'd like to think so." Jeremiah's cheeks were flushed pink, a pop of color for his ghastly skin, pure malice written across his face. He pulled Jerome down by his tie and gave him a real kiss this time. It still hurt, there was still a tear of teeth, but at least their lips touched. Jerome splayed his fingers over Jeremiah's hip, hitching it up so their legs scissored together. It felt so dirty, so fucking filthy, something Jerome would've loved to take a picture of to send to his mother. _Look at your precious little spoiled brat now. Look at your sweet, perfect golden boy, Mommy dearest! He grew up to get my best and your worst!_

_Look at how I get to touch him_ , Jerome thought, rolling his hips against Jeremiah's as he licked the inside of Jeremiah's mouth, trying to lap up everything he could. _Look how I get to do everything I want to him, the way you never wanted me to._ He hoped she could see him from either heaven or hell, wherever the fuck she'd ended up. Maybe she was in purgatory, which was something Jerome only figured was real to people God didn't feel were worth His time. Not for criminal masterminds or heathens like your friend and humble narrator, oh brothers, but for people who were too pathetic and worthless to give a second thought to. Their mother belonged in the beasts of purgatory. 

Saliva rolled down Jerome's lip from the strand connecting his and Jeremiah's kiss, his cut bleeding into it. Jeremiah looked less hateful and more pleading, sort of desperate. Christ, he looked so pretty. Jerome gave him a gentle little peck and shoved his hand between their bodies, arching up just enough to fumble with Jeremiah's slacks, jerking the zipper down and the button undone. Jeremiah whimpered and bit down on his lip, glaring when Jerome beamed down at him. 

"Needy needy needy," Jerome sang, nuzzling Jeremiah's jaw. Jeremiah's teeth snapped and he grabbed the front of Jerome's shirt, yanking him askew to roll him onto his back. He slapped Jerome's hands away and shoved the slacks down himself, entirely red. 

"You—" Jeremiah looked like he wanted to say something, like he was chomping at the bit for it, dying for it, but something got the better of him. His hands worked at Jerome's pants even though he was shaking. Jerome, so horny he almost felt nauseous, could see it in Jeremiah's shoulders, the way they shook under his jacket. Jeremiah shook his head in a jerky motion as his tongue flashed over his lips, nervous fingers pulling Jerome's cock free. 

Jerome's fingernails bit hard into his palm, his hips nudging against Jeremiah's hand. "Never done this before, huh?" he asked, his voice rough and strained. 

"What the hell makes you say that?" Defiant to the core, Jeremiah spat on his hand, noisy and wet, letting saliva drip between his fingers before he wrapped them around Jerome. Jerome exhaled in a harsh noise, pushing himself off the floor to grab at the short hair on the back of Jeremiah's head, sliding his tongue over Jeremiah's lips. 

"Who could've fucked _you_?" Jerome said, sounding breathless and contemptful, his voice broken up with wasteful little noises every time Jeremiah would try something new with his hand. Jerome felt a lot less smug and more raw with Jeremiah touching him and leaving him vulnerable. "What kind of sick, weird, desperate bitch would take you to bed with her? Shut-in women with nerd fetishes?"

"The only woman who's ever given you a second glance was our mother. Or, oh, wait, she _didn't_ , did she?" Jeremiah said, sneering, clenching his fingers around Jerome and making him convulse and swear. "You were an unlovable child and you're an unlovable man."

"You're saying I could've fucked Mom?" As absolutely _abominable_ as the statement was, it made Jerome's cock twitch as precum leaked over Jeremiah's grip. It made a light flicker for a second in one of the dark rooms of Jerome's mind that even he didn't delve into too much. "Yeah, she was the last whore I stuck my dick in because she was—ngh—s-she was washing down her midnight clown dick with nasty, abused baby boy dick. She liked it so much she could've just _died_."

"You're a loathsome pile of shit." Jeremiah said it through his teeth as his hand leapt forward, snug against Jerome's throat and cutting off his air for a second time. "I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you—"

"Christ, yeah, give it to me," Jerome gasped out, gripping Jeremiah's wrist, bucking into the other hand that was pumping his cock. "Love you, Miah, love it when you talk like that." The lack of blood flow was giving Jerome the familiar rush of lightheadedness again, like all the blood was being forced back down and building up more and more pressure. Jeremiah looked murderous, seething with anger and repulsion, eyes shining like sparking Christmas lights. Jerome had seen something similar on too many other people, but this was different. Jerome could almost physically see the spiderweb crack in Jeremiah's head that kept singing _ting! ting! ting!_ as it grew rapidly, spreading in threads about to unravel and blow apart. His breakage came too many years too late, but jerking off your brother in your underground maze while choking him and humping his leg was a definite tipping point in Jerome's opinion. 

Jeremiah's lips parted in little sighs and exhales, his tongue dropping past his lips as he grinded against Jerome's thigh, his eyes falling shut. Jerome gagged and coughed, his fingers clawing at Jeremiah's hand, nails scratching and scraping. The world around him seemed to pulsate. Jeremiah opened his eyes again, muttering under his breath, almost smiling before he released Jerome's throat and squeezed around his cock at the same time. Jerome choked on new air, seeing cameras flash behind his eyelids as he came, feeling like his body was going to twist in on itself. 

"You're disgusting," Jeremiah said, his breathing hard and bordering on hyperventilation. His candy lips opened in a shape Jerome wanted to fill as he touched himself, on his knees the way he belonged as his hand moved furiously. Jerome was still trying to wake himself up from the pitch black he was just thrown into and he clumsily grabbed Jeremiah's head again, kissing him with more tongue than teeth this time, reaching down to fist Jeremiah's cock instead. Jeremiah moaned, much hungrier and more exuberant than anything Jerome had heard from him so far. He liked it. Jerome had a sudden, intense desire to see what Jeremiah would be like when he was totally undone and writhing underneath Jerome's body, begging and begging and begging. 

"We're gonna be the kings of Gotham, little brother," Jerome whispered against Jeremiah's hot cheek, sliding his thumb over the precum-slicked head of Jeremiah's cock. "We'll split it down the middle. But I get the better half." 

"Fuck you," was all Jeremiah could spit out before he fell apart in Jerome's arms, shaking and panting. Jerome pulled back the hand covered in hot, shiny spunk and sucked off what dripped from the tips of his fingers as he watched Jeremiah's face, the fading stars in his eyes and the rare bliss in his expression, his mouth wet and slack. His hair was ruined and Jerome preferred it that way. 

"We'll still split it." Jerome kissed Jeremiah, catching his lips once, twice before Jeremiah pulled away, animosity that was usually etched into him settling back into place, but it still couldn't overtake the high blush. "We can flip a coin for it."

"No." Jeremiah zipped his slacks back up, trying with an absurd effort to regain his dignity as he straightened the jacket that was clearly stained with incriminating evidence. He made an effort to comb his hair back with his fingers. "We. . . we need grander stakes. I assume you've played Russian roulette?"

Jerome grinned and reached out to ruffle Jeremiah's hair back to its disheveled state. This Jeremiah was worth keeping. This was what he'd been working for all along. "You could say I've dabbled."

**Author's Note:**

> (title is from bathroom bitch by holychild.)


End file.
